


Noteworthy

by Kisleth



Series: Though Scattered Across the Universe, We'll Always Find Each Other [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anonymous Love Letters, M/M, Pre-Slash, Secret Admirer, Whump!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where the notes began.</p><p>[Prequel to "Anonymously Yours"]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noteworthy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [totalnerdatheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/totalnerdatheart/gifts), [faeleverte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeleverte/gifts).



> I gifted this to two people, one to TotalNerdAtHeart because she gave me this prompt on tumblr (where I only posted part of the fic because I'm a horrible tease and I like AO3 better for storing my fic), and Faeleverte because they were the most adamant about having more (too bad it's not after Anonymously Yours like they wanted, I'm rotten, I know).
> 
> ALSO WARNING: There is some violence but it's not graphic. Mostly it's just about Clint getting hurt in his escape tactics.

It didn’t happen suddenly, no, not at all. It’s a slow warmth that took Clint over day by day, growing when he’s around Agent Coulson, and waiting to grow more when he’s not. He didn’t dare try to figure it out or put a name to it, and that was when it fully sunk in and he  _knew_.

He’s in love with his handler.

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment down because the day itself had been a general shitstorm. They’d been on an op and between one thing and another, Coulson had left Overwatch with Sitwell to join in the fray. Clint stood on his perch, relaying the movements of their adversaries below and watching everyone’s backs. Too bad no one really had his.

The instant he heard someone behind him, he whipped around, drawing his bow. He loosed the arrow just as a bullet sunk into his gut. He lost his balance, as he’d spun on the ball of one foot, and toppled off the rooftop. He couldn’t right himself and spot where to shoot a grapple arrow between vertigo and his injury, but he did manage to flail his arm just  _so_.

His wrist bounced off the railing to a fire escape and he managed to catch himself on the next floor below it. He gripped hard to stop his fall, even when he felt joints pop out of place and the screaming pain through his wrist told him he might have fractured something with the first impact. He bit down a scream and rocked his body under the fire escape, tossing himself onto the next floor of it and letting himself collapse. At least here he was out of the way.

Between the silence-shattering noise of his impact on the grating and the pained grunt that escaped his lips, Sitwell, Coulson, Cap, and Nat all bark out “Hawkeye, report” in eerie synchronization. He would laugh if he could, just the thought of it made him gasp in pain. A more worried “Barton” came over the line and Clint presses his hands as hard as he can to his abdomen.

"Shot." His throat constricted before he could say anything else. Coulson’s voice was firm and clear even when everything else around him blurred and wavered as he announced "Agent down" and asked for a pinpoint on Clint’s location. Luckily, Iron Man could find him and between one long, hazy moment and the next, Coulson had ripped down the ladder on the first floor and raced up however many others between them.

He convulsed when Coulson pressed his hands down firmly over the gushing wound in his belly. “C’mon, Clint,” he blinked slowly as Coulson’s voice echoed, but it didn’t come from his earpiece, so his hearing was clearly failing him too. “Stay with me.” Clint nodded weakly, glad he could at least do that.

"I have you. You're going to be completely fine..." Coulson's voice trailed off in a way that made Clint wonder when his head was submerged under water. He could see his lips move but only muffled noise reached him. Everything shifted and became too hazy to really remember. Coulson had sounded more frantic as Clint faded away, but he didn't remember the words, couldn't make them out. He remembered a firm grip around his knees and shoulders, being carried, using the last of his strength to tuck his face into Coulson's neck. He remembered being calm and comforted by his handler filling up his remaining senses completely.

It's then, just before he sunk into cold, unfeeling darkness, he knew that the maelstrom of emotions fighting through the haze were just parts of a whole. He loved Coulson.

It was that thought that roused him from his rest, too. He reveled in the warmth of it and how it cradled his throbbing body, protecting it from the scents and sounds of the medical wing. He listened to the bustle of nurses in the hall, of low chatter and beeping machines. Under it all came the soft breaths of someone asleep.

It took some time, but finally Clint's eyes opened and he turned to spy on his companion.  _Coulson_. His breath caught and the surging, overwhelming need to blurt his feelings choked him. The beeps from the heart monitor sped up and he coughed, both noises rousing Coulson to a quickly-tamped-down panic.

Fear of rejection swallowed his words in the mere milliseconds it takes for their eyes to meet. Maybe he won't confess. Not yet.

When Medical finally cleared Clint to hobbling around on his own to return to his own quarters, he headed straight toward Coulson's office. He needed some way of letting his feelings out because keeping it bottled up was getting harder every day.

Coulson's office was empty, but the door was open. He must have only stepped out moments ago. Clint hesitated, floundering a bit because now that he's here, he's failing in his conviction like the first time. 

Then, he spotted it.

A small pad of sticky notes.

He plucked a pen from the jar on the corner of the desk (magnetized down with the matching magnet inside the nice wood to keep it from getting knocked over, but still movable. That and it was good to double as a bullet-resistant measure) and wrote his note. He never thought he'd write an anonymous note like some high school secret admirer, but here he was.

He stuck it to the edge of Coulson's monitor and left, the words waiting to be read.

_You handled the Branson op well. I find your skill and knowledge to handle something like that ridiculously attractive._


End file.
